


Sand

by omgbubblesomg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adopted Children, Dean talks about his heart a lot, Future Fic, M/M, More schmoop than plot, Schmoop, excessive schmoop, sand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 11:12:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8622349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/pseuds/omgbubblesomg
Summary: Just a little future fic for Sam and Dean and their family, written for the nature prompt 'Sand'





	

He had fallen asleep to the sound of Sam laughing, and he woke up to the same thing.

“Shh, don’t wake Daddy up,” Clara was whispering, trying to keep him quiet.

“Daddy’s already up,” Dean grumbled without opening his eyes. He reached out for his daughter but his arm was trapped at his side. Five years ago this would have had him hurtling into terrified consciousness but now he just cracked open an eyelid to glare menacingly upward.

Clara giggled, and put another handful of sand on top of the pile that covered Dean. Then she hid her face behind Sam, who was grinning broadly.

“That’s what you get for falling asleep on the beach,” Sam laughed. Dean just groaned.

“Daddy’s a mummy!” Clara giggled from behind Sam’s arm. She had just started learning about Egypt and pharaohs. Noah made a soft gurgling sound behind Sam. His vocabulary wasn’t very big but he knew both ‘daddy’ and ‘mommy’. Sam had been trying to teach him to call Dean ‘mommy’. Dean had retaliated by trying to teach him ‘assbutt’. Sam had conceded defeat in favour of keeping swear words out of their son’s childhood.

Dean grinned at the memory. He grinned a lot, these days. Clara had been with them four years, and Noah only a few months, but it felt endless. Endless joy. As if all the bad things – all the death and the pain and the witches and demons and monsters had all led to this moment; lying on the beach, buried under more than just sand. Buried under laughter and sunshine and family. Sam saw him grinning and leaned down to kiss his nose. Clara was scooping tiny handfuls of sand on top of him and Noah was wearing his bright blue rashie and Dean’s heart was so full of love that he was overflowing with it. He laughed out loud, full and wild, and Noah laughed too, clapping his hands.

“You’re not supposed to be laughing,” Clara reminded him, in her innocent disgruntled way. “You’re being mummified.”

“Mummified? Who’s teaching you this stuff?” Dean caught Sam’s eye. “Has Pappa been teaching you grown up words again?”

“Pappa says big words are for big brains.”

“He would know,” Dean grumbled under his breath. Sam flicked some sand at his face.

“Today we are emba- emba- um, emba-ming you.”

“Embalming,” Sam corrected in a loud whisper.

“Today we are embalming you and then you will live in a pyramid with your whole family and your heart has to be less than a feather.”

“A feather?”

“Yes because all of the bad stuff you’ve done has to weigh less than a feather.”

Sam’s face fell, but Clara didn’t see.

“Okay, wildcat, I think I’ve been embalmed enough. Don’t I need some bandages? There’s some seaweed bandages over near the water.”

Clara rushed off, her little golden ponytail bobbing away. Dean’s heart melted all over again as he watched it. Sam had watched hours of youtube videos to perfect the art of the ponytail.

“You’re a good dad,” Dean whispered, still watching his daughter as she skipped to the edge of the water.

“Maybe we should give it up completely,” Sam said back, quiet and sad. He didn’t mean the family, of course. Dean knew exactly what he meant.

“We don’t do anything dangerous anymore. Just the routine stuff. The local stuff. Salt and burns.” He looked up at Sam, who had picked Noah up to bounce him on the sand. “We’re keeping our area safe, Sam. For our kids. For everyone’s kids.”

“You know what she was saying before you woke up?” He flicked some sand off Noah’s cheek. “She was telling me the difference between real mummies and fake mummies. She meant the difference between the stuff in her schoolbooks and the stuff in our hunting books.”

Dean stayed quiet. Clara was running back and forth, trying to avoid the waves as they hit the beach. She screamed in delight every time the water touched her toes. Sam waved at her when she looked up the beach to make sure they were watching.

“She’ll be six next year,” Sam said quietly. “I want to be here for that.”

“Sam…” He didn’t try to argue. Hunting was dangerous, no matter how safe you played it. But they had decided long ago that keeping their community safe was worth the risk. They had enough money saved that if something happened, god forbid, Clara and Noah would be taken care of. Jody had promised to be there if necessary. He ached to reach out and comfort, to put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “This is the good life,” he reminded Sam. “Being here. You, and Clara. Little Noah. This is the good life. I wouldn’t change a single thing. We’re making it work, Sam. This family, _our_ family, it’s good.”

Sam smiled peacefully down at him, and brushed away a lonely tear. He leaned down and kissed Dean, and he tasted like salt. Salt and sunshine. “Love you,” he whispered against Dean’s lips. Dean strained up as he pulled away, chasing the kiss, but Noah was pulling Sam’s long hair, demanding attention, so they parted. “Later,” Sam promised quietly, eyes darkening minutely. Dean shivered, and almost begged “now”, but was distracted by a faceful of seaweed.

“Daddy! You weren’t _watching_!”

“Oh, ah, sorry honey, Daddy was doing something else.”

“You were _kissing_ again. That’s _so_ gross!”

“I didn’t do anything! Blame your Pappa!”

Sam grinned, and picked Clara up. “You don’t like kisses, huh?” He kissed her belly, then blew a raspberry. She shrieked in delight. “What about here?” He did the same thing to her arm, then her side, then her other arm, tickling with his fingers until she begged for him to stop, both of them laughing hopelessly. Noah laughed too, just because he could, and Sam gave him a raspberry too. “Shall we finish embalming Daddy now?” he finally asked.

Dean dozed again as they laid strips of seaweed over his ‘pyramid’. At one point Sam added some more sunscreen to his nose, and the cold tickled a little. He tried to imagine life without Clara and Noah. Maybe still living at the bunker, still saving the world. He tried to imagine life without diaper changes and bed times and weekends at the beach, and he couldn’t.

The adoption application had taken ages, as they knew it would, but they had spent the time preparing. Finding a home, and a school. Painting the bedroom green (Dean’s favourite colour) and filling the kitchen cupboards with chipped mugs from salvos and backyard sales. But it had all been worth it. Clara had barely been a year old. Quiet and skinny with big eyes and though she hadn’t laughed often at the beginning they could barely get her to stop now. And Noah, too. They didn’t have many details of his past but his skin was darker, maybe Eastern European. Dean’s heart kept growing, easily accommodating the new additions. Sam wanted another, of course, but the house was too small. Dean said no but he knew that Sam would wear him down eventually. His chest was ready to burst but there was room for one more, another daughter, maybe. Or a little brother for Noah.

Clara announced that her work was complete, and Dean looked down at himself. The seaweed smelt (“that’s the embalming fluid, Daddy,”) but he pretended to be shocked and awed. Then he rolled his eyes backward and moaned, “oooooohooaaa!” He raised his arms until they pulled free, sand cascading from his skin. “I’m… alive…” he moaned, keeping his arms straight like the mummies in Scooby Doo. “I’m… ALIVE!” He lurched upright and chased Clara as Sam watched, laughing.

Later, in the car ride home, Clara fell asleep in the backseat, tired at last. There would be a tired tantrum at home, but it would be worth it. They would put her to bed, and sing Noah his favourite lullaby, and then they would go to their own room, at the end of the hall. It was warm so they would only need a thin sheet, and Sam’s hair would be damp after his shower. Dean could almost smell it already, could almost taste the skin of his neck.

He held Sam’s hand as the car drove into the sunset. Towards home.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fluffiest thing I've ever written. I signed up for the nature prompt challenge and couldn't turn 'sand' into anything darker than mummified hunters on the beach.


End file.
